


and i said, "who am i to blow against the wind?"

by Lirazel



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh, goodness.  I hope that wasn't hopelessly schmoopy, though I fear it was.</p></blockquote>





	and i said, "who am i to blow against the wind?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aragons/gifts).



Sometimes Sibyl feels guilty for pushing Gwen. Mostly, honestly, she does it because she knows it’s what Gwen really wants, and sometimes when you’re most frightened, it’s then that you need someone else to stand firm for you when you cannot for yourself. She likes to think of herself as Gwen’s champion, but sometimes she worries that she is coming across as more overbearing than encouraging.

Whenever she thinks this, she remembers once when they were all very young, going down to the pond with her sisters on the first warm day of the year. Mary had decided to go wading, and of course anything Mary did, Edith must prove she could do as well, but the water looked icy cold to Sibyl—it was only April, after all. Sibyl had hung back, though Edith beckoned to her again and again to join them.

Finally Mary had enough of Edith’s pleadings. “Honestly, Edith,” their eldest sister had said with a sneer. “You’re just as bad as Granny.”  
Sibyl had dissolved into giggles, then felt terrible for laughing. But the offended look on Edith’s face had stayed with her, just as Mary’s tone had, as though there was no fate more terrible than being like Lady Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham, and as much as Sibyl admires her grandmother’s tenacity, she never wants anyone to speak about her that way.

And Sibyl still doesn’t want to be that person, pushing her own ways onto others who give in because they’re weak or just don’t think the fight is worth fighting. She doesn’t want to live through other people, pushing against the bars of her gilded cage so that they bend just enough that she has the room to breathe a bit easier, but not enough that they give way so that she can _escape_. She doesn’t want to be pushing Gwen simply for the vicarious pleasure of seeing another girl attain her wild dreams because she doesn’t have the courage to seek out her own.

She’s worrying these things over in her mind again one afternoon when she rounds a copse of trees at the far end of the grounds and sees Tom Branson sitting propped up against a tree, a book—one of Father’s, no doubt—in his hands. It would be frowned upon if anyone were to find them here, but the Crawley women have always been a bit more familiar with their servants than their peers usually are—when they were children, it was Carson that Mary ran to when she didn’t get her way, and Mother tells O’Brien everything—and so Sibyl plops down beside him on the grass.

They start out talking about the weather and the book he’s reading, but somehow (she’d never be able to tell quite how) she ends up spilling the whole story of Gwen and of her own fears about her mixed motives for making Gwen her project, and it feels so good to have someone to confide in that she can’t stop speaking and ends up sharing more of her heart than she ever has with anyone. She thinks this should be terrifying, telling her secrets this way, but he listens to her so closely that she can’t help but trust him, and something about his eyes tells her he’ll keep her trust.  
He’s silent after she finishes, weighing his thoughts carefully, and she likes that about him—her father thinks he’s some sort of fiery upstart, but she knows that he just believes in things very deeply and doesn’t take anything for granted.

“Lady Sibyl,” he says finally, with a hint of teasing lightening his brogue, “You’re about as far from Lady Grantham as a dove is from an old hen.” And then after her laughter subsides, he tells her that everyone has mixed motives for everything, and that it’s better to know what your less altruistic motives are than to lie to yourself by believing you’re acting purely out of goodness. “It’s wanting what’s best for other people because you believe everyone deserves to be happy—but not taking away their choices. It’s a difficult balance to find, but one worth seeking.” And then he smiles and she smiles back, and she feels as though she’s taken a first step towards something, though she couldn’t say what. “I wouldn’t worry too much, my lady. You’re the kind who finds that balance by instinct.”

His words _do_ set her mind at ease, and when he comes rushing over to her with the news on the afternoon of the garden party, fighting to keep his grin smoothed into something more dignified—but failing miserably—she bubbles over with happiness and can’t stop from running over to share the news with Gwen. And a lightness fills her, and it must be the kind of certainty that Tom acts on, knowing that you’re helping people and making the world a better place. Because her delight isn’t for herself for succeeding, it’s all, all for Gwen, whose eyes fill with happy tears as she realizes that something she’d wanted so badly is now within reach. Sibyl tightens her embrace around Gwen and Tom and laughs with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, goodness. I hope that wasn't hopelessly schmoopy, though I fear it was.


End file.
